


One bird, one cage, one flight; one song in those far woods

by shadesofpemberley



Series: The SanSan Eurovision AU Collection [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Crack, F/M, This is the Eurovision AU you never asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofpemberley/pseuds/shadesofpemberley
Summary: In a post lockdown world, the only way to get back to normal? International singing competitions. It's the Eurovision AU you never asked for.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: The SanSan Eurovision AU Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748242
Comments: 24
Kudos: 26





	One bird, one cage, one flight; one song in those far woods

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Thunderstruck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077059) by [Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat). 



> Hi.
> 
> This was inspired by the SanSan Discord, a confused Peter Steele meme, lockdown and a general wish to be outside.
> 
> This is unbeta-d shenanigans and i'm already regretting posting it and I haven't even posted it yet.

You might be wondering how they ended up at the Hartwall Arena in Helsinki, Finland. A stage normally known for international pop stars visiting from around the globe on their tours, or packed with sports fans, the arena had been transformed into walls of glittering silver and royal blue as far as the eye could see. Booths for representatives from every country were set up on the floor of the arena in front of the stage, and as band members and their entourages filtered into what would soon be a veritable battleground, they looked for the flag of their country which would point them in the direction of where they should congregate.

It was the first time that the U.S.A. had been allowed to compete in the Eurovision Song Contest. “A world after lockdown!” the masses had cried. “Inclusivity!” they hollered. “For a band that upsets everyone, how the fuck did we end up here?” he thought. “If it doesn't upset people, it's not rock music.” he’d been quoted saying earlier in the year. “It has to upset the church, it has to upset your parents, it has to upset the school system” and man, did that statement upset the church, parents, and the school system. 

Sandor Clegane, the 6’8” hulking guitarist from every mother’s nightmare band, Cannibal Star, was still confused as to why they’d been chosen to represent the U.S.A. at the annual carnival of sparkles and fireworks, and even more confused as to how their frontman, Beric, had managed to talk him into it. Cannibal Star oozed disdain for conformity, their crashing guitar riffs and controversial lyrics causing no small amount of pushback from the general public.

Having cancelled the European leg of their tour due to the pandemic, the band had been listless, desperate to get back on stage, back to making money, and living their lives. To say the lockdown had been awful for their creativity would be an understatement. There’s only so many songs you can write about the same four walls and the psychedelic fever dreams you get after drinking too much red wine, and Sandor knew it. When his phone rang on that fateful day, and Beric had excitedly explained that their manager had called hammering on about how they had an opportunity to get out of the country and into an arena again, he’d said yes without entirely listening to the proposal being made.

“Red wine and bad life choices,” he griped. “That’s how I fucking ended up here.”

The band had flown from the U.S. to Helsinki overnight three nights ago, and upon arrival had been sequestered in a hotel not far from the Hartwall. They’d been hustled into the arena earlier in the day to carry out a sound check and once again, make sure their equipment had survived the trip across the Atlantic. They spent a solid hour making sure that the borrowed amplifiers worked as expected for their cacophony of sound, because there’s a damn difference between just making noise, and making music. That was over and done with now, and it was time for the televised portion of the evening to begin.

Sandor nursed a glass of wine as several acts performed. Bands had come and gone, Ireland rolled out what appeared to be an animatronic turkey, Malta had a group of women who looked like they would be more suited to a nunnery than a stage, and as Sandor lifted his wine to his mouth, he rolled his eyes as realised that it was time for another act. 

The lights dimmed. A gentle piano melody began to fill the cavernous arena, and from the back of the stage, an enormous weirwood tree was illuminated from behind. Fog filled the stage, and as Sandor’s eyes adjusted, from the base of the tree there was a flash of colour as the next performer drew the hood down from above her head. A waterfall of auburn hair fell to a slender waist which was encased in a delicate bodice that could only be described as armour. Redheads were his vice, he knew it, and his band members knew it too. As his jaw dropped, he caught Bronn slapping Thoros in the chest out the corner of his eye and knew their eyes were on him, and not the beauty on the stage.

For once though, it wasn’t just the hair or the pale skin that he admired from afar. As the performer began to sing, he felt the hairs on his neck stand up, and a shiver ran down his spine.

He was mesmerised. He heard the muffled voices of his fellow band members calling him back, asking where he was going, what the hell was happening? He heard Bronn and Thoros cackling heartily as they realised what was going on but he only had eyes and ears for one person. He continued on his journey through the booths towards the stage and as he passed the booth for the U.K. where a pinched face blonde teen sat, Sandor thought he heard Harwin whistle with his fingers before breaking into laughter with the rest of his bandmates.

He flashed his AAA access pass at the security guard (not that they could have stopped him) and jumped over the barrier separating the floor from the pit below the stage in one fell swoop. As the songbird on stage hit the crescendo of her number perfectly, he stopped dead at the access door to the wings of the stage as he felt her eyes on him. As she finished the final notes of her song, she glanced to the side of the stage and he felt like the floor would fall out from underneath him as they locked eyes, grey with blue.

The stage darkened as the crowd erupted in cheers, and he heard bustling movement as the set pieces were moved and and the songbird was hustled from the stage to the wings where her entourage were awaiting her, squealing with excitement.

He passed through the corridor leading from the pit to the stage and as he reached for the door handle to access the wings, the door swung open and he was face to face with her. She looked at him square in the eyes, with no compunction about his scars.

“Hi.” she spoke, more softly than he expected after her performance. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes, and extended a dainty hand in offering. As Sandor grasped her smaller hand in his, “hello, little bird.” he rasped. He ran his thumb across the back of her knuckles, and she inhaled sharply before breaking the contact between them. The return of her hand seemed to shake her back into reality.

“What’s your name?” she asked, the vision of gentility. 

“Sandor Clegane.” he replied. “Seven hells, of all the times for you not to work. Damn you, say something!” he cursed mentally at his tongue which felt like lead in his mouth. He needn’t have worried about replying, he realised later on that evening. She was a force to be reckoned with.

“Sandor Clegane. My name is Sansa Stark,” she said with perfect poise and composure, “and i’m going to win tonight.”


End file.
